


Where the Heart Is

by nverland



Category: Actor RPF, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nverland/pseuds/nverland
Summary: Viggo's away from home working and missing his loved one.





	

Title: Where the Heart Is  
Author: Carol  
Rating: G  
Character: Viggo/Your choice (we know who I think it is)  
Disclaimer: This is fiction, nothing more  
Warnings: None  
Beta: ~N~

 

He sits on the large, dark cloth-covered couch in the living room. Hardwood floors with a few scattered braid rugs, low-slung heavy wooden coffee table covered in books and papers, a few pencils here and there, a mate gourd at the edge near at hand. Heavy end tables, large lamps are the only other things in the room. A fire burning gently in a brick fireplace at the end of the room makes everything warm and comfortable.

His legs are stretched out across the expanse, pillow propped behind his back against the arm of the couch, feet touching the opposite end, ankles crossed and toes twitching in time to some internal music.

He scans the papers held in his hands, reading carefully, perusing the photos that are attached to the words, making small marks here or there of changes that need to be made, things that he likes about them, that he doesn’t, that he wants to add or subtract.

Stretching, he sets the latest sheaf aside, placing his glasses on top of them on the table, swings his feet to the floor and takes the gourd to the kitchen to be refilled. Setting a kettle to heat water, he detours to the bathroom, relieving himself and washing his hands carefully under hot water, warming them and easing the slight ache that’s come from writing for so long.

Returning to the kitchen, he pours the now-hot water into the gourd, adding a bit more of the dried leaves and letting it sit to steep while he searches for something he can eat, a twinge of hunger that he knows he needs to listen to; it’s become so easy to forget eating lately.

Taking the apple he’s chosen, and the tea, he settles back on the couch, watching the wind blowing the thin bare limbs of the trees outside in the cold winter wind, wondering what the weather is like back home, his other home, the other side of the world. Where the people he loves, the ones who love him back, are going about their lives - working, playing, living. Wondering what it’s going to be like with this next role, is it going to be as cold as it is here, will he be able to give the man the dignity and strength he deserves, will he survive?

He reaches for his glasses, settling them again on the bridge of his nose, lifting the stack of papers and settling again onto the couch, ready to finish this batch and go on to the next set waiting for him.

An hour later he pulls the glasses off again, eyes tired and head starting to throb, and inside lonely, missing family, loved ones. As he sets things aside again, turns to rise slowly - when did he start to feel this old? - the phone in his pocket vibrates, wanting attention. Pulling it from his pocket and flipping it open, he grins at the name displayed.

“Hey you,” he rasps, “I was just thinking about you.”

An hour later he’s sitting in the kitchen, the phone lying in front of him on the table, a bowl of soup being slowly eaten, and a promise to his partner that he’ll take better care, eat more, rest more, come home soon.

~end


End file.
